They Called Her Mrs. Doc.

by Janette Oke

  As soon as she had finished reading his letter, Cassie wiped away tears of disappointment, placed her new winter-gray bonnet on her red curls, and reached for her heavy coat.

  “I am going shopping for Samuel,” she informed her mother. “He isn’t able to make it for Christmas and I wish to get a parcel off to him.”

  Her mother nodded in understanding and Cassie left the house to walk to the nearest shop.

  It was a crisp winter day and the snow crunched underfoot with each step, and little puffs of cloud preceded her down the icy walk with each breath. The walk was good for her, the chill invigorating. By the time she had finished her purchases, she was in much better spirits. She hoisted her parcels and started for home.

  “I will surprise him by sending baking done by my own hand,” she planned as she walked briskly. She was confident now of her cooking. She was glad that her mother had insisted she learn. It was a good feeling to be able to account for oneself in the kitchen—even if one really did never need the skill.

  “Has Papa said anything about finding a position for Samuel?” Mrs. Winston asked Cassie one evening as the two of them sat before the open fire, needlework in hand.

  Cassie raised her head and looked at her mother, surprise widening her eyes.

  “Samuel plans to go back to Alberta to practice,” she replied slowly.

  From the look of sheer horror that crossed her mother’s face, Cassie could tell that it was something she had not considered.

  “You didn’t know?” asked Cassie softly.

  “Why, no. Why, I never would have suspected such a thing. A—a promising young doctor like him. Why, Papa is sure that he could do very well for himself in a city practice.”

  “I’m sure he could,” replied Cassie with a touch of pride. “He has said that there have already been hints of his being offered a place in Ottawa.”

  “You—you knew his plans?” asked Mrs. Winston.

  Cassie nodded. Her fingers moved deftly to ply the needle through the piece of silk she held in her hands.

  “And you agreed?” Mrs. Winston seemed to think the idea preposterous.

  “I agreed,” replied Cassie.

  Mrs. Winston dropped the needlework in her lap, her hands moving restlessly as though greatly agitated.

  “Child, have you any idea what you have agreed to?” she asked at last.

  Cassie raised her head high, hair glistening in the light of the parlor lamp. “I have agreed to marry the man I love,” she said evenly.

  “But—”

  “Didn’t you say that when one marries, one follows?”

  “Well certainly but—”

  “Well, I intend to do just that.”

  Mrs. Winston had no argument. She sat silently, trying to take in what her daughter had just spoken.

  “Besides,” said Cassie with a tilt to her head and a smile playing mischievously about her lips, “men have been known to change their minds before.”

  Mrs. Winston’s breath caught in a little gasp. “Cassie, you wouldn’t?” she began. “It isn’t fair to promise one thing and plan another. It—it is deceitful and one must never begin a marriage with deceit.”

  Cassie’s smile quickly faded and annoyance clouded her face. “Oh, Mama!” she exclaimed. “I am not being deceitful. If he wishes to stay in the West, I will stay in the West—but should he deem it wise to return to the East, I certainly will not forestall him.”

  Mrs. Winston still looked uncomfortable.

  “It is a dangerous business to agree to a marriage where one is not in total accord,” she warned her headstrong daughter.

  “I am in accord, Mama. Please—don’t fuss. I know what I’m doing. I love Samuel.” And Cassie’s eyes began to tear.

  “I—I know. At least, I think I know. You do seem to be in love, but—but, my dear—you must think clearly—honestly—for your sake and for his. Do you love him enough?”

  Cassie laid aside her work and stood to her feet. She reached in a pocket for a lace hankie and touched it to her welling eyes. “I love him, Mama,” she said firmly. “I love him. And I have thought about it, and I have prayed about it.”

  Mrs. Winston nodded her head slowly. “Then I suggest,” she said carefully, “that both of us consider the West to be your future home—since that is Samuel’s intent.”

  Cassie wheeled away from her mother and left the room with a swishing of skirts. It was the first quarrel she’d had with her mother for many months and she suddenly felt like a child again. It was unfair. Totally unfair. Why didn’t her mother leave her to work out her own future? After all, it was up to her and to Samuel. They were old enough to know their own minds. Weren’t they?

  They were married in a quiet, yet beautiful ceremony one week after Samuel had completed his internship. Mrs. Winston was in her element, planning and organizing all the details of the wedding and reception. Abigail was Cassie’s sole attendant, while Stephen stood with Samuel.

  Mrs. Winston used up three handkerchiefs during the ceremony, and Dr. Henry P. was forced to clear his throat many times. Their little girl had grown up and made a beautiful bride, the brilliant color of her hair softened by a white tulle veil and her wide-skirted white gown emphasizing her brilliantly shining green eyes and her creamy skin—almost devoid of freckles.

  “She does look happy,” Mrs. Winston had to admit, but was there a hint of a nagging little fear in her eyes?

  The honeymoon was a very short affair, only two days spent at Niagara Falls, and then they returned to Montreal and busied themselves with the task of packing and planning for their trip west.

  Cassie became more and more aware of Samuel’s excitement. He can hardly wait, she mused. He can hardly wait to get back to Alberta. In spite of herself, Cassie had been secretly entertaining the hope that Samuel might decide to accept her father’s invitation to join him in his well-established Montreal practice.

  “I really have more than I can carry,” her father had said in her hearing. “With the practice and the teaching, there are not enough hours in my day. I already am refusing new admissions. With the two of us, the practice could be expanded to keep us both as busy as we wish to be.”

  Samuel, looking dreadfully uncomfortable, had cleared his throat. He had just been honored by the man he esteemed most highly. The man who was also the father of his wife. And yet his heart and soul was in the West. He twisted uncomfortably in his seat and Cassie held her breath. For one moment she wished to cut in and tell her father that Samuel had already made up his mind and shouldn’t be pushed for a difficult decision. Then she swallowed the words and prayed inwardly that Samuel might find it in his heart to accept her father’s offer without feeling compromised.

  But Samuel was speaking, slowly, deliberately. “I cannot express my deep appreciation for your offer, sir. There is no one—no one—that I would sooner practice with.”

  Cassie let out her breath. He was going to do it. Going to stay in Montreal. She wanted to squeal—to clap her hands childishly. She half rose to go to Samuel—but he was still speaking.

  “The truth is, sir, that I have made a promise to myself. You see, my mother died because there was no doctor to attend her. She left a family of three little ones and a brokenhearted husband. That sort of thing is repeated over and over in the West. Mothers taken, babies lost, families bereft of fathers before their time. I—I can’t stop it all, sir, but I might prevent one or two. Just one or two and my work will be rewarded, my life worthwhile. I know it won’t be easy—for me—and especially for Cassandra.” He turned and reached for her hand as he spoke the words, and Cassie responded by holding tightly to his hand. “But she knows. She is a brave, courageous woman, and I feel that she is strong enough, in body and spirit, to join me. If I wasn’t confident of that, I would never have asked her to be my wife.”

  Her father sat back in his big leather chair and cleared his throat. He did not speak for many minutes. Instead, he sat gazing off into space as though carefully con
sidering the statement made by the man before him.

  He cleared his throat again and stood to face his son-in-law. Then he extended his hand and clasped the strong one of the young doctor.

  “I can only say, God bless you, son.” Tears glistened in his eyes, and he reached a hand to squeeze Samuel’s shoulder firmly, then turned and quietly left the room.

  Cassie had never seen her father weep before and the experience unnerved her. She wasn’t sure if he was weeping because her husband had refused him, because he was losing a cherished daughter, or simply because he was touched by the fervor of the younger doctor. Her body began to tremble and she wished to take flight. Then Samuel was drawing her into the circle of his arms and kissing her hair and her cheeks, and she decided that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Chapter Nine

  A New Life

  The train ride west was long and boring. There was very little of interest for Cassie to see.

  Samuel was not much help, for he had his nose buried in a medical book Dr. Henry P. had given him upon his departure. Now and then he raised his head to smile at his new bride or to lovingly pat her hand, but quickly returned to his reading. Cassie yawned and again looked out the window at the vast expanse of prairie grass waving in the continuous wind.

  They did pass through small towns. Settlements really, and Cassie felt the alarm growing within her.

  “Is Calgary like this?” she asked, referring to a shack-filled hamlet with streets rutted from recent rain, and yards devoid of anything growing.

  Samuel laid aside his book and reached for her hand. “Calgary is much bigger,” he assured her, “and much more—more settled and civil.”

  Cassie breathed a sigh of relief and reminded herself that they would not be living in Calgary.

  “What about Jaret?” she asked him.

  Samuel waited for a moment before answering her question, wanting to be honest—yet encouraging. “Jaret is much smaller than Calgary,” he admitted. “But it isn’t as rugged as the town we just saw.”

  “I should hope not,” replied Cassie in relief, but she did not see the concerned look that darkened her husband’s eyes.

  He held her hand tightly.

  “It really is quite—quite different from what you are used to,” he said softly. “There are no operas, no plays, no fancy shops or paved streets. They are not even cobbled. Just hard-packed prairie soil. You will have many adjustments.”

  “A church?” she asked glumly.

  “A little community church,” he answered.

  Cassie nodded, thankful they had that much. At least, the place would not be totally heathen.

  “You will be seen as the community—well—leader. You and the local minister’s wife.”

  Cassie had never thought of that before and the idea pleased her. It would be rather exciting to be the one to bring culture to a frontier town. She could hardly wait for Samuel to return to his book so she might commence her planning. Where would she begin? With opera? No, that would come later. Perhaps with plays. They were much easier to handle and might even be able to use some locals—in lesser roles, of course. Perhaps she herself could take the lead. She might even write the script herself. That would be rather fun. They could do one presentation prior to Christmas and another at the Easter season. They could start with stories based on biblical characters. That way the people would be entertained and taught at the same time. Perhaps even the Indians could be invited to attend.

  With that thought Cassie leaned forward quickly and grasped Samuel’s sleeve. He looked up from his book.

  “Samuel,” she asked sharply, fear and agitation edging her voice, “are there Indians in Jaret?”

  He nodded, a puzzled look furrowing his brow.

  “Are they—safe?” she asked, her green eyes wide with horror.

  He smiled, a slow amused smile, and his hazel eyes looked almost blue behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Quite!” was his simple answer.

  He brushed the ever-straying thatch of thick brown hair back from his forehead, and Cassie felt that for a moment he looked quite boyish. A surge of love for him passed through her being and she reached for his hand again. Her cultural plans for the town would have to wait. For the moment she wished to give her full attention to her husband.

  She had been pleasantly surprised with Calgary. Oh, it certainly could not measure up to Montreal, but there was a newness, a vigor about the small city that drew her. And she did find the mountains to the west very appealing.

  Never had she seen streets so a-bustle with activity. Never had she seen such a diversity of humankind. She wished she could openly stare at all she saw, but good breeding demanded she mask her curiosity.

  “How long can we stay here?” she asked Samuel, hoping his answer would assure her they were due for a long, long stay.

  “We should have things arranged in a couple of days,” he said instead. “Three at the most.”

  “How do we get to Jaret?” she asked then. “By train?”

  “I need a buggy and some good horses,” he informed her. “I hope to buy them here. We’ll drive to Jaret.”

  “I thought it was miles away,” she told him.

  “It is—but within driving distance. Folks make the trip without giving it a thought.”

  Cassie was not sure she’d make the trip without thought. What would they ever do if they should be overtaken by Indians on the trail? She looked around nervously. She saw a few people on the streets who were decidedly different from the folks she was accustomed to seeing. Some of them might even be Indians. Perhaps, even now, they were eying the newcomers to see if it would be worth their while to lift a scalp or two. She shivered and walked closer to Samuel.

  They stayed in a hotel in the heart of downtown, and Cassie found it to be quite adequate—if not elegant. She was left on her own for hours at a time while Samuel made his purchases and cared for their travel plans.

  In the evenings he took her to restaurants in the city, and she found the outings exciting in spite of her discomfort with the strangeness. One evening they even attended a play following dinner, and to her surprise the audience was well behaved and the presentation much better than she had dared expect.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said to Samuel. “They had costumes and fine sets and everything.” To which Samuel only smiled.

  On the third day Samuel said they were ready to travel. It had taken him a bit longer than he had planned to make all his purchases and arrangements.

  “We won’t leave now until morning,” he informed Cassie. “I just hope the weather holds.”

  Cassie wasn’t sure about the weather. It felt dreadfully hot to her. She was glad for the relative comfort of her hotel room.

  He awakened her—far too early, she thought—the next morning and hurried her as she did her final packing. Then they partook of an early breakfast, gathered the packed lunch, loaded the last of their belongings, and started off toward the south, seeming to follow the gentle curve of the Rocky Mountains.

  Samuel had hired a driver and wagon to transport much of their belongings, and he settled into position in the new bennet buggy with Cassie at his side just as the sun came over the horizon. To her amazement the streets of the city were already bustling with activity.

  “My, folks do get up early here,” she observed sleepily.

  “Most folks have a long way to travel,” responded Samuel and clucked to the bay that pulled their springed carriage.

  It was chilly in the early hours of the morning, but before long Cassie laid aside her shawl. The day grew increasingly warmer with each passing hour, until Cassie was thankful for any light breeze that might give them a bit of air.

  In the afternoon after they had stopped to partake of the picnic lunch, storm clouds gathered, and Cassie felt relieved to be out of the sun. But Samuel kept his eyes on the sky.

  “I don’t think we’re going to make it,” he said at last. “The storm is moving in
quickly.”

  Just as he finished speaking, the first raindrops began to fall. There was no place to go for shelter. They were in the open without even the benefit of trees.

  Samuel pulled the bay mare to a halt and reached in the back of the buggy, drawing forward a rough, odorous tarp.

  “Wrap this around you,” he instructed and Cassie turned, aghast at the thought.

  “You’re going to get soaked clear through if you don’t,” he warned her, and Cassie reluctantly allowed him to wrap them both in the smelly canvas. She soon found that Samuel was right. The skies seemed to open above them and pour out their contents with a vengeance. The once-dry and dusty track soon became a muddy bog, and the bay mare labored under the weight of the small buggy.

  The wagon that followed them was forced to pull over to the side of the trail to wait out the storm. Already the team was breathing heavily, their full sides heaving with the exertion of the pull.

  “No use wearying the team,” Samuel called to the driver. “I’ll go on ahead and find shelter for Mrs. Smith.”

  Even with the tarp wrapped around her, Cassie was unable to keep dry. She could feel the water seeping through in a dozen different places. She felt cold and miserable and terribly unattractive. The bay mare trudged on through the mud and rainfall until they were all spattered and wet. As they were turning into a crude farmyard, Cassie suddenly remembered she was wearing her best bonnet. With a cry of alarm she snatched it from her head, not even taking the time to undo the pins.

  As she held the sodden bit of blue felt in her hands, the tears welled up in her eyes. It was ruined! Totally ruined and she had planned to use the stylish hat as her first offering of refinement and culture to the new community.

  “It’s only a hat,” Samuel said beside her, and Cassie crumbled the wet headdress in her hands and began to sob.

  Samuel realized, too late, that he had said the wrong thing.

  “We’ll get you another one,” he tried to console her. “The next time we’re in Calgary. You won’t need hats as much in Jaret anyway.”